


All Things Angst

by sparkly_butthole



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Various Angsty Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-06-16 13:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole
Summary: Marvel Angst Bingo 2018.Chapter titles are the bingo squares. Tags/ warnings will be given per chapter, so you can skip any triggers but still read whatever else you want. Not all of these have sad endings, but they are all definitely angsty as hell.





	1. Torture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arke/gifts).



> Huge thank you to [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry) for her excellent beta skills. All Hail the Glow Cloud.
> 
> This chapter: Torture, mentions of castration and dismemberment, The Chair, icepick lobotomy, waterboarding, hopeful ending
> 
> Fills G1 on my Angst Bingo card.

  
  


The boy is slim, blond, beautiful. The sunlight bounces off his hair, making it look like spun gold. He’s got the body of a teenager, but the face and laugh of a grown man; he’s probably in his early twenties, but sickly, perhaps, or just naturally small-statured. 

 

The Soldier follows him, this boy with a halo of spun gold, follows him to the supermarket and the print shop and finally back home, a single-story brick tenement house with five tiny apartments and a draft through the damaged window that would knock anyone over. Anyone but the Soldier, of course, borne of the winter as he is. 

 

The place seems so simple, feels like home in a way nothing ever has for the Soldier. The boy turns to look at him, laughing, and his eyes are like… something from the Soldier’s dreams. Like the ocean that he sometimes dreams about during his long rests in the cryotube. Familiar,  _ god _ , so familiar, stuck on the edge of his mind; if he just reached out far enough, he could grab him, this boy. This man, for he may be fragile on the outside, but his heart is as pure as the sun, and he is more than a mere boy. This, the Soldier knows in the same way he knows a sniper rifle: like instinct. 

 

***

 

He stares blankly at his handlers, mind lost in a faraway place that seems so familiar.

 

“Soldier!” his handler barks, and he snaps to, but that memory (or maybe daydream, the Soldier doesn’t know) keeps prickling at the back of his mind, feel like ants crawling underneath his skin. He’s not supposed to be thinking of that; he’s not supposed to be thinking of anything but obedience, and he knows that much. Still, that sliver of his brain that’s still human, that part  they haven’t been able to drown yet, screams  _ I knew him. _

 

The Soldier’s mouth opens as if of its own accord, like he has no control. (Did he ever have control? Over anything?) 

 

“The boy. Who is he?” he asks in a voice raspy with disuse. “I… I think… I knew him? Know him?” He looks at the ground, confused. “Is he my handler?”

 

Two of his actual handlers chuckle, but they shut up quickly when a third - the one who’d barked at him, the boss, he knows, leans down and lifts the Soldier’s chin. The man’s face is smiling, but his eyes are frozen, cold as the ice the Soldier knows only too well. But he’s long past shivering. He’s an object, and objects don’t shiver. 

 

But do objects  _ remember _ ? He’s not sure. There’s a punishment coming, and the Soldier finds himself welcoming it. This confusion is painful. Ugly. Useless, and that is not something he can afford to be. 

 

***

 

It’s not the chair. He had thought it would be the chair, but it’s not the chair. Not this time. The boss is mad in a way he usually isn’t. Strange. 

 

Maybe the boy means something. Maybe he’s the key to all this. Why he’s here. Why he suddenly has the urge to escape. To protect something, instead of destroying it for once. Maybe. The Soldier doesn’t desire things, or at least he hasn’t in too long to remember, and yet. There’s -

 

(a boy with hair of spun gold and a smile like the sun)

 

They strap him to the table. He remembers this. And by now, most of his fear reflexes have been burnt out of him, but some still remain. He isn’t sure how much longer they’ll last, but perhaps there is pain the human mind can never forget, no matter the damage done to it. 

 

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. Watches as the techs approach with terror in each step. How can they be terrified of him? Strapped down, he has no hope of harming anyone. Can they not see he’s just as afraid as they are? Especially when they pull out the bucket and the towel. 

 

The Soldier’s respiration picks up, and the fear sits hot and stifling on his chest, already cutting off his air. He prays for the tube. Prays for the chair. This is not the punishment the Soldier had hoped for. 

 

There’s a boy with hair of spun gold. He has something to do with this. The Soldier thinks of him, far away from here, dreaming - remembering? - another life. 

 

The techs finish setting up. The doctor comes in, makes noises he can’t hear underneath the pounding of his heart, the adrenaline in his blood. His own screams echoing in his head.

 

He tries to hold on. 

 

(a boy)

 

(he was everything, the Soldier knows)

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


They put him in the chair when it’s over. He tries to hold on. He  _ tries. _ Spun gold. A boy. Deep laugh, soft sigh. Smile like the sun.

 

Smile like… 

 

Like… 

  
  


***

  
  


The Soldier has been out of cryo for five days. It doesn’t feel right. He knows they put him in, pull him out like a sack of meat, cut his soul out piece by piece and then throw him back for next time. But not like this, never like this. They know he malfunctions. They  _ know. _

 

A tall blond man walks into the lab where he’s tied down while the techs work on his arm. The man reminds the Soldier of -

 

(a boy)

 

(a boy made of sunlight)

 

The man, his new handler, gives the Soldier a mission. Kill this target, kill that target. No witnesses, no loose ends. Nice and easy. He kills a young Japanese man who’d been offered a job with Hydra, who’d foolishly turned it down, believing in his own self-righteous moral stance to protect him. 

 

(the boy, a man now, a shield) 

 

(a self-righteous chip on his shoulder)

 

The Soldier takes out the man with a single shot to the head from the treetop just outside his bedroom window. Nice and easy. When the man’s wife walks into the bedroom with their nine month-old daughter in her arms, he kills them too, one shot apiece. Nice and easy.

 

But on the way back to the base, the Soldier is twitchy for reasons he cannot identify. Ants crawl underneath his skin. This has happened before, sometime in the past, though he can’t remember. All he remembers is blood, the sweetness of a job well done, shaping the century.

 

(a boy)

 

(a man)

 

(a shield)

 

Not memories, those, only pathways to more pain. His imagination. Malfunctioning.

 

One look at his handlers and he knows it’ll be more than just the chair, more than just the wipe before he gets back to the peace of cryosleep. It’s been too long, that’s all. They deconstructed him once upon a time - the Soldier doesn’t know much, but he does know that - but he heals. Too quick. Too quick for his own damn good. 

 

But he doesn’t dare disobey. He doesn’t dare try to get away. He learned better a long time ago.

 

The boss of his handlers makes noise at the team, at the doctor, at him, but the Soldier only gets snatches of the conversation.  _ Malfunctioning. Deeper this time. Take more _ . Then there’s an icepick in the doctor’s hand, and the Soldier screams. 

 

His last conscious thought is  _ goodbye, Steve _ , even though he has no idea who Steve is.

  
  


***

  
  


They try to deconstruct him still. Take him apart piece by piece. The icepick makes him forget for awhile.

 

(spun gold) 

 

(why does that matter)

 

But it doesn’t last long, at least until it does. The Soldier is like the boy, the man he became, somehow. Not unbreakable, because if anything describes the Soldier, it’s ‘broken,’ but something else. Perhaps immortal, if his brain itself can regenerate. His spirit and his arm, both gone before the formula was perfected, are all that’s lost. 

 

One would’ve grown back. 

 

The other wouldn’t have.

 

They take other parts from him, too. A foot, once, to see how quick the process is, how much pain he’d be in. His sex, just because they could. That grew back, too, though he’s not sure that matters. Desire is not something an object feels. In fact, the only reason the Soldier feels relief is because he can’t do his duty to his owners with pieces of him missing. At least not physically. 

 

He’s not sure if he feels relief when they put him in the chair. That’s a theft of a different kind. Like the icepick, except they do it as often as they can find an excuse. It’s a delicate balance, the Soldier knows. He’s the finest assassin in history - they tell him so - but if they do it too much, he goes catatonic. If they do it too little, he remembers. No, he  _ malfunctions. _

 

Memories do not exist for objects. 

 

He’s learned that by now.

 

(a man)

 

(a shield)

 

(a  _ home _ )

 

Sometimes when the boy visits him in the dark, in the spaces of the night, in the cage where they keep the Soldier between visits to his frozen resting place, he gets a nosebleed. He knows it is real because of the nosebleed, knows he’s not making things up. Another malfunction. 

 

When that happens, the Soldier goes to his handlers and confesses. They gleefully punish him over and over again, overwhelming him with pain so that he forgets even before the chair, before the wipe. They beat him with whips, tie him up and choke him, drown him, keep him in ice water for days at a time… he’s used to it, this treatment. The Soldier knows better than to try to hide or resist. 

 

But still, they torture him, just because they can.

 

It is what it is.

  
  


***

  
  


By the time the Americans purchase him, he’s stopped malfunctioning. 

 

They keep him out of cryo for no more than three days at a time. There had been something golden at the edges of his vision once, something he’d tried to hold onto as everything he was turned to dust in their hands. All he can see now is - 

 

(sunlight)

 

And a shape. Indistinguishable. Too bright to look at. Disappearing anyway, never to return.

  
  


***

  
  


Nine words. That’s all it takes. Nine words and his spirit is whole again. He’d thought he’d lost it, but it had only been hiding. Waiting to be awakened. 

 

It’s too much. It overwhelms him.

 

(the boy)

 

(the man)

 

(the shield)

 

( _ Steve _ )

 

The Soldier -  _ Bucky _ \- leaves him there, on the bank of the river. He doesn’t intend to come back, because his handlers had burned the concept of home out of him long ago, with whips and ice and knives. What the two of them once had is gone, mere crumbs best left in the past. But at least he can look at the sunlight again. He can  _ see _ . 

 

A boy. 

 

Who grew into a man.

 

Who carried a shield.

 

He was everything, Bucky knows.


	2. Gunshot Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky promises he's not going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains: gunshot wound, potential character death, ambiguous ending.

The therapist’s office is sparsely decorated. Dark brown carpet lines the floor, set off by vibrantly green plants all around the room. The desk and surprisingly uncomfortable chairs match the theme, making the sunlight streaming in seem muted, though not drab; overall, the room has a very professional feel. On three sides are floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Manhattan. 

 

Steve finds himself staring out one of the windows, fidgeting while the therapist, a woman who can’t be older than twenty-five, tilts her head and looks at him. It feels like she’s looking  _ through  _ him. He silently curses Stark for sending them to one of the most insightful people he’s ever met. It had only taken the woman five minutes to make him feel like a bug underneath a microscope.

 

Bucky’s sitting on the opposite side of the room, lying on the couch with his feet over the arm. He doesn’t look in Steve’s direction.

 

After a minute that feels like an hour, the therapist - Maria - clears her throat. “Captain Rogers, I understand that this line of questioning makes you uncomfortable. You come from a different time, and talking about your feelings wasn’t exactly encouraged back then. I assure you that I am here to help. But we can’t get through this if you’re not willing to put in the work. This is up to you; I am not a miracle worker. And I don’t want to waste your time. Or mine.”

 

Steve appreciates her honesty, he really does. He supposes he owes her - and Bucky - an attempt to fix this, what’s going wrong between them. Doesn’t mean it’ll be easy, of course, but what the hell. Bucky’s the most important thing in the entire universe to him. 

 

That is sort of the problem.

 

“I don’t give him curfews,” he finally mumbles. “I just… want to make sure he’s okay.”

 

“Bullshit, Rogers,” Bucky spits. “You want to have control over my life.”

 

He sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Bucky, that’s ridiculous. I’m not gonna do what  _ they _ did to you.”

 

“Well, it sure doesn’t seem that way.”

 

Steve turns to look at his best friend, his partner, the love of his life, in shock. “What the hell does that mean?” he asks, bewilderment clear in his tone.

 

“It means that, by keeping up with what I’m doing and giving me all these rules-”

 

“I do not give you rules!”

 

“- you act no better than them.”

 

“How the hell can you…  _ fuck,” _ he trails off, having no idea where the hell Bucky had gotten that idea. Torture is a far cry from… nagging, or whatever the fuck it is that he does.

 

“Sergeant Barnes, if I may,” Maria cuts in. “Why do you feel that Captain Rogers is making rules for you?”

 

Bucky sighs as he levels a glare at Steve. “Because he’s constantly asking when I’ll be home and what I’m doing. Why I need to be doing that at such-and-such time. I feel like a dame from back in the day, when they weren’t allowed out past six o’clock, when their fathers would stare down their noses and control their whole lives.”

 

“That’s a far cry from what Hydra did to you, though, isn’t it?” she prods gently.

 

“Yeah… it is. It’s just that… I don’t expect him of all people to make me feel that way. We’re supposed to be partners.” 

 

“We  _ are _ partners. That’s why I worry about you,” Steve says.

 

“No, you’re afraid I’m gonna run off. Take off and never look back.”

 

“Is that true, Captain?” Maria asks, turning her too-sharp gaze on him.

 

“No!” he says reflexively. Then: “Yes. I don’t know.”

 

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing to be afraid of that. After all you’ve been through, a fear of abandonment is only natural. And Sergeant, I think you should keep that in mind before you get too upset with him. You’ve both been through so much.”

 

“I get it,” Steve says. “I mean, I guess I am afraid of him leaving. Not because he wants to hurt me, and not because I want to control him.” He feels Bucky’s eyes on him, and needs to explain this as best he can. Not that words have ever come easy to him. “I just… he left me before,” he whispers. “And I know he didn’t mean to, it just happened that way. I don’t blame you for it, Buck, believe me. If anything I blame myself.”

 

“Yeah, I know. That’s another thing we need to talk about-”

 

“Will you let me finish?” Steve asks, annoyed. “One of Captain America’s flaws at a time, please.”

 

“Just breathe, both of you,” Maria cuts in. “Take a moment if you need it.”

 

He does, watching Bucky do the same. When he feels calm enough to continue, he says, “I mean, everybody abandoned me without meaning to. Pegs, and my mom, too. The Commandos. Or maybe I abandoned them, I dunno. What I do know is that I’m terrified of losing you again, for any reason. There are still people out there gunning for you. A lot. And when you go out without me… I know there’s nothing I can do if you get into trouble.”

 

Bucky’s face softens a bit. “Babe, I can take care of myself.”

 

“Yeah, I know that. Of course I know that. But it doesn’t stop me from being paranoid. You’re more than capable, but you’re also just one man, and there’s a whole organization after you. Not to mention other governments who want to try you on a national level, even though you’ve been exonerated internationally.”

 

“I get where you’re coming from,” Bucky answers, a pensive look on his face. “But, just like a child, you’re not going to be able to protect me from everything. I could die just walking out the front door to some freak accident. So could you. We put our lives in danger all the time, too.”

 

“An excellent point, Sergeant,” Maria says. “What do you think, Captain?”

 

“It’s different. I feel like I have control. A chance to save you when we’re out in the field. When we’re not… there’d be nothing I could do about it. I wouldn’t even know.”

 

“Steve.  _ Stevie _ . Other people go through this all the time. Imagine being a parent, seeing your kids leave the house without you for the first time. You can’t be with me every second of the day, you know that. It’s only going to drive a wedge between us.” Bucky sits up, eyeing him earnestly. “I get that you are afraid I’m going to leave you. But we made a promise to each other, didn’t we?”

 

“Maybe Captain Rogers would be soothed if you reminded him of that promise,” Maria suggests.

 

Steve can’t take it anymore; he crosses the room and falls to his knees in front of Bucky. “End of the line, baby. I’m here.” He rests his forehead on Bucky’s and closes his eyes, reveling in the warm presence of his best friend. 

 

“End of the line. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

***

 

Three months after their visit with the couples counselor, Bucky leaves the Tower to pick up some dinner. He’d wanted Italian food, but Steve had had had a wild craving for pad thai, and Bucky caved with rolled eyes and fond, upturned lips. 

 

Steve had expected him home within an hour, tops, but when another half hour had passed, he’d started really worrying, chewing his bottom lip until it was bloody and pacing the living room floor. He tried to remember what the therapist had said, that Bucky’s autonomy was paramount, and that it was okay to give up a little bit of control. It doesn’t mean that Bucky’s out being beaten or kidnapped or whatever other worst-case scenario Steve can think up.

 

But by the time two full hours have passed, he knows he can’t wait any longer without losing his mind. Forcing down the urge to put on his full uniform, Steve throws on a jacket and rushes out the door, grabbing his shield at the last second just in case.

 

Steve traces Bucky’s likely steps, knowing that Bucky likes to keep to darker spaces where possible, cutting through this alley here or underneath that awning there. As he gets close to the Thai restaurant they usually frequent, he starts panicking, heart and respiration rate rising, making him feel like a heart attack is imminent. It’s not real - Steve physically can’t have a heart attack - but that doesn’t stop his brain from telling him otherwise. It takes every ounce of willpower he possesses to come around that final bend, one block before the restaurant, because what if he doesn’t find Bucky? What then?

 

What if he  _ does _ find Bucky?

 

And there, down the adjacent alley, lies Bucky. A lone figure sits on the stoop next to him, smoking a cigarette and speaking what sounds like insults in Russian. He sees Steve enter the alleyway and stands up quickly, bending over to snuff out the cigarette on Bucky’s skin. Steve throws the shield and knocks him on his ass before he can make it one step in the other direction.

 

The man scrambles up and runs away, but he is not Steve’s concern, because Bucky’s there, and in bad shape. Blood seeps out of two wounds in his abdomen, one at the approximate location of his liver, the other right through his bowel. Steve thinks he can smell Bucky’s insides, and that can’t be a good sign. He dials the Avengers’ emergency line, fighting for enough coherency to give his location and a devastated  _ “hurry” _ before hanging up and tending to Bucky.

 

Steve tries every trick he can think of to stay calm, tries putting pressure on the wounds to staunch the bleeding, but none of his outings as Captain America could have prepared him for this, no matter how badly things went. This is his partner, his everything, and he’s bleeding out right in front of him. He’s lost too much blood now; only a hospital can save his life.

 

Bucky, however, is smiling, teeth bloody and breath rattling in his lungs. The fondness in his eyes nearly knocks Steve on his ass even now. How many times has he failed this man? He’ll never deserve Bucky, not in a million lifetimes. And now it looks like he’ll fail him one last time.

 

Tears roll down his face unnoticed and land on Bucky as Steve leans in to kiss his forehead. 

 

“Stevie,” Bucky breathes, sounding weaker than Steve’s ever heard him. More tears fall like little raindrops on his love’s face. 

 

“No, Buck. Hang on. Hang _ on _ ,” Steve cries, grabbing hold of Bucky and cradling his head in his lap. 

 

“There’s no more time.”

 

“Stop. Don’t say that,” Steve replies, but there’s no point in arguing. He knows that Bucky is right. In his heart, he knows this is goodbye. 

 

Bucky coughs, and blood spews out of his mouth. Steve can hardly breathe, wishing he could give whatever is left in his own lungs to Bucky, willing his own heart to beat for Bucky, even if it meant his own death. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, raising his metal hand to stroke through Steve’s hair. “I broke my promise.”

 

“No, you haven’t. No, Buck. They’re on their way, they’re coming, I swear, I  _ swear _ …” 

 

“Babe.  _ Shh _ . I want you to know - “ Bucky’s mouth twists with pain, but he settles quickly. “You’re so beautiful,” he says as he gently pulls the strands of Steve’s hair. “So beautiful.”

 

The light in Bucky’s eyes is fading now, and Steve can barely see through the tears. He wipes his face as best he can, wanting to see as much of Bucky, commit as much of this as possible to memory before the light is gone entirely.

 

“You are, too,” he whispers, his own voice shot to hell. “I hope I told you that enough.”

 

Bucky nods as much as he still can. “I love you, baby. This isn’t my choice to leave. You know that. You _ know _ ,” he insists, and then his head falls back as he draws his last breath.

 

It takes the team several units of horse tranquilizer to get Steve to sleep. He knocks three techs against the wall in his grief before they manage to subdue him. His last thought is  _ please, let me die, too. If there is a God out there, let this be the end of the line for both of us _ .

 

***

 

Steve jerks awake, and the bed’s cold next to him. 

 

Steve jerks awake, and the indent of Bucky’s body mocks him, telling him  _ you’re a fool, and you never deserved him _ . He’s pretty sure he can hear the words, absurdly whispered to him from the pillow next to his own.

 

Steve jerks awake and doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore. If Bucky’s death was a dream. If Bucky’s gone for good or if he’s merely grabbing breakfast. If Bucky really broke his promise.

 

All he knows is that he’s about to find out.


	3. Old Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: #old age   
> #approaching natural death   
> #implication of past depression

Angst Bingo - Old Age (Shrunkyclunks)

 

Steve remembers the smell of hospitals well. It’s been ages since he’s been in one, at least a real one that wasn’t part of Medical at the tower, but the sights and the scents are stuck in his head like arrows, pinned to his subconscious. Remembering the aches and pains is bad enough, but the fear - the certainty - of death had been the worst part of visiting the hospital. That meant fear for his own life, often enough, but also fear for his mother’s, the amazing woman he’d lost so long ago and still misses fiercely. 

 

The burden he carries now is just as heavy. He’d had sixteen good years with his sweet ma, who’d given everything she had to make sure her boy could survive without her, but he’s had nearly seventy with Bucky. He wasn’t even in the ice as long as he’s held and loved the man of his dreams. Bucky Barnes is his everything, his lover and partner and best friend in the entire world. 

 

And he’s dying while Steve watches, impotent and hopeless.

 

The worst part about it is that the process is insidious. Bucky’s not going down in a blaze of glory the way Steve will likely have to die, given that he hasn’t aged a day since he got the serum. No, Bucky is fading away like an old photograph. And the worst part is, it’s  _ boring _ , though it seems like a blasphemy to even think that. But there’s no denying that they both tire of it, even as neither of them can stand the thought of Bucky’s death. Steve wants him to hang on for as long as possible, but the waiting just seems to drag out the hurt. It goes on and on and  _ on _ , day-in and day-out. 

 

He grabs them lunch from the cafeteria, choosing a plain vegetable sandwich for Bucky, who can no longer eat anything too exciting. Nobody in line seems happy to be here, but Steve is still feeling a bit sorry for himself; none of these people will ever know what it’s like to watch those they love grow old and die while remaining young themselves. It was hard enough to lose most of the Avengers; those remaining are even older than Bucky and on their last legs too, with the exception of Banner, who will likely have to bear this burden even longer than Steve himself.

 

Steve walks back to the Intensive Care Unit on tired feet, carrying lunches and drinks for the both of them and thinking back to when they first met. He’d been giving a graduation speech at Cornell University when Bucky had introduced himself. As a new professor, he’d seemed so sure and confident, which Steve had immediately found attractive. Competence had always been important to him. 

 

And Bucky had impressed him even more by asking him out. He’d been a little shy, a little coy, and blushing from head to toe - Steve had later discovered, when he had him naked and laid out on his bed, when he’d blushed so prettily with his whole body - but he’d pushed through the nerves and snagged a date with one of his personal heroes.

 

They’d hit it off instantly, even though the other Avengers hadn’t approved of him dating a civilian. But their concerns about Bucky being a potential target for their enemies had never surfaced, and Steve had gotten on his knees and asked Bucky to marry him a mere six months later. Bucky had very enthusiastically said yes, leading to the best sex of Steve’s life.

 

And the long and short of it is, they’ve never looked back. Even as Bucky grew old, got gray hair and needed glasses to read, eventually retired… their love felt as fresh as the springtime sun for Steve. Bucky’s libido had never really died off, either, not until he’d landed in the hospital with congestive heart failure a little over a month ago. 

 

Instead of distracting him and making him feel better about the situation, these memories only serve to make Steve feel melancholic at best. As he enters the seventh floor ICU wing, the pristine white walls start to feel like they’re closing in around him. He stops in the middle of the hallway and takes a deep breath, willing his heart to settle. Better to enjoy the remaining time he has with his best friend and partner while he can. It’s okay if he breaks down later; for now, his husband needs him. 

 

Bucky lifts his head slightly from the pillow when Steve walks into the room, swallowing dryly. He hears Bucky cough long and loudly. Then Steve hears his breathing return to it’s now-normal shallow rasping. Not a good sign. 

 

“Hey, sweetheart. I got you some food,” Steve says as he leans down and kisses Bucky’s clammy forehead. 

 

“Thanks,” Bucky croaks, grabbing the sandwich with shaking hands.

 

They eat in silence for a while, Steve not-so-subtly watching Bucky, making sure he eats his fill. Thankfully, today’s a good day; Bucky swallows the last of the sandwich and licks his fingers clean afterwards. 

 

Steve inches his chair near the bed once they’re both done eating, grabbing Bucky’s hand and squeezing it tightly. 

 

Bucky gives him a confused look. “What’s going on with you?” he rasps.

 

“Nothing,” Steve lies. 

 

His husband immediately knows he’s lying. “I’ve known you for almost seventy years, Rogers. What’s going on?”

 

Steve stares down at their intertwined hands, considering his answer, watching as Bucky strokes his knuckles soothingly. “You know, that’s cheating.”

 

“Nonsense,” Bucky scoffs. “I got the right to use my experience against you when you said ‘I do.’ Cough it up.”

 

Steve lifts his head and looks his dying husband in the eyes, forcing himself to admit the truth. “I’m scared,” he says simply.

 

“You? Steve Rogers is scared? Hold the phones!” he says sarcastically. “Of what?”

 

“Losing you,” Steve breathes, unable to trust his voice. 

 

Bucky’s eyes grow soft, the way they always would just before Steve would press inside him, giving away how very much Bucky loved him. “That’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says, so matter-of-fact it takes Steve’s breath away.

 

“How can you be so…” he starts, shaking his head, then tries again. “It seems like I’m more afraid than you are.”

 

“Because, baby, you have to live without me when this is over. But there’s nothing after this for me. I know, I know, before you start. I know you don’t believe that. But I don’t, and even if I did… all it would mean is that I’m waiting for you in Heaven. So I can’t tell you not to be sad, my sweet Stevie. But just know I’ll not be in pain much longer. Silver linings.”

 

Steve smiles and makes a wet noise in the back of his throat. “You always were telling me to look at the bright side,” he murmurs, not for a second believing there’s a bright side to this. Not  _ this. _

 

“I know,” Bucky says with a secret smile. “Brought you back from the brink once upon a time, didn’t I?”

 

Steve can’t help the tears that fall down his face now. “Yes. You probably saved my life. Definitely made it a thousand times better.”

 

“I’d never change a thing, not in a million years. But I’m tired now, Stevie. I’ve lived my life, done what I set out to do. There’s only so much a body can take - “ 

 

As if to prove his point, Bucky starts to cough again. Steve helps him sit up a bit more, patting his back gently as though he were an infant being burped. The cough subsides and Bucky lowers slowly back to the pillow. 

 

Steve watches him through the curtain of his tears. There’s not much he can say now. Bucky’s earned his rest. Steve could never take that away from him, could never force him to live like this if he felt it was time to go.

 

“I just ask one thing,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hand as hard as he can. “Well, alright. Two things.”

 

“Shoot,” Steve says with a hiccoughing laugh that makes him wince.

 

“Promise me you’re gonna move on. Find someone new. Live your life. Don’t run into a wall, not for me. Don’t make me an anchor.”

 

Steve hesitates. He’s not sure he can make that promise. But it’s what Bucky wants, so Steve owes him a fair shot. 

 

“I’ll try,” he gets out eventually. “I promise, I’ll try.”

 

Bucky smiles that soft smile again. “Good. That’s all I ask.”

 

“Nope. You still got one other thing.”

 

“Oh, yeah. I just… I want to die at home. Can you take me home, Stevie? I wanna see the place one last time before I go.”

 

God, it feels like his heart is cracking into pieces. 

 

“Of course, baby. Of course you can.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. “Now get up here with me. I’m tired and I want to sleep.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Steve climbs onto the uncomfortable hospital cot and snuggles up to him, being careful of the various wires connected to his husband in some manner or other. The nurses long ago learned that no amount of shaming would pull Steve away from Bucky, so they no longer bother. 

 

As Bucky drifts off to sleep, Steve leans over and kisses his forehead again.

 

“I love you so much, James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispers. 

 

And as Bucky sighs contentedly in his arms, Steve Rogers counts his lucky stars for the last seventy years.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. :( This is the downside to shrunkyclunks fics - even if Steve isn't immortal, odds are good he's going to live far longer than the average person. And modern Bucky is no super soldier. I can't help but think of this when I read those fics. Hope I didn't ruin it for you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Bab, I know you've already read at least most of this one, but I hope to be filling this work with several chapters just for you. <444


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